


They do it with mirrors

by gumbie_cat



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumbie_cat/pseuds/gumbie_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When problems arise at the Barrayaran Embassy on Beta Colony, the newly minted Lord Auditor Vorkosigan is obviously the perfect man for the job. Set at some vague time post-Memory, pre-Komarr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They do it with mirrors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellen_fremedon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellen_fremedon/gifts).



Shown in by a bland, blank faced Vorbarra armsman, Miles entered the office of the Emperor of Barrayar to find not only Gregor, but also Guy Allegre waiting for him. Allegre was the new man in charge of ImpSec, and doing an extremely good job of it as far as Miles could tell. His presence in the office would seem to indicate that the man Gregor wished to speak to here today was not Miles, his foster brother, or even Lord Vorkosigan, but instead the newest of Miles's personae - that of Lord Auditor.

"Sire," he greeted Gregor with a small bow.

"Good afternoon, Miles. Take a seat." Gregor waved Miles in to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Guy?"

As the emperor spoke Guy moved from where he had been standing in front of a window and towards a second chair. Before seating himself, he gave Miles a small nod of greeting.

"My Lord Auditor."

"General Allegre." Miles gave his own small nod in return.

"Miles." The Emperor's voice was mild, as always, but still captured the entire attention of both men instantly as they turned away from each other to face him. "A task has come up for which you would seem to be uniquely suited. How would you like to pay a visit to your grandmother on Beta Colony?"

Miles frowned. "My grandmother? It's been a few years and Mark is staying with her right now, but I'm sure she'd be thrilled to see me. But why would you need an Auditor on Beta?" Diplomatic relations between Barrayar and Beta were rather frosty at the best of times. They had dropped all charges against Miles's mother and, more recently, granted Miles' clone brother Mark Betan citizenship, but both actions had been rather grudging. The prevailing view on Beta still held that Barrayar was a planet full of backwards barbarians, with whom they wanted as little contact as possible.

"Our Embassy on Beta has received a rather strange request, one which we feel requires careful investigation. It seems a Betan citizen is asking for asylum on Barrayar."

"What?" If the chairs in front of Gregor's desk were only a little less sturdy or accommodating, Miles felt he might easily have fallen out of his in shock. "A Betan asking us for asylum? The only one ever to do that is my mother! Their Embassy here keeps running quiet campaigns to persuade Barrayarans to emigrate. They’ll target anyone who they see as a persecuted minority here. Women and homosexuals mostly. Then there's their not so quiet campaign to teach the proles all about the joys of democracy." He shrugged apologetically at Allegre who was a prole himself, however high ranking, rather than a member of the Vor class. "Hell, whenever I end up there as myself," rather than under the now defunct cover identity of Admiral Naismith, he meant, "at least one well meaning Betan will usually try to offer _me_ asylum! Why would one of them want to come _here_?"

"That," said Gregor. "Is precisely what I wish you to determine, my Lord Auditor. Guy?" He gestured at the head of ImpSec, who cleared his throat before turning to Miles and starting to explain.

* * *

The whole thing was just _weird_ Miles reflected when, two days later, he found himself in a rather luxurious cabin on a commercial jump ship, ostensibly on his way to pay a personal visit to his brother and grandmother. No sir, no Imperial business to see here. His parents had been surprised but pleased to hear about his plans and had sent along various messages for him to deliver. Then there was the entire suitcase full of gifts from every member of the extensive Koudelka family for him to deliver to Kareen. Transporting all this mail and loot Miles felt more or less like the courier officer he'd always pretended to be during his days working undercover for ImpSec.

He also had with him all the information that ImpSec had so far been able to obtain on their mysterious asylum seeker, along with a promise that several analysts were continuing the search and would forward any relevant discoveries they made. In the mean time Miles was faced with something of a puzzle: one week ago a man had walked into the Barrayaran embassy on Beta Colony and asked to be remembered to his old friends in ImpSec. The Betan man, Jerold Prok, had then followed up his initial dramatic entrance by reeling off a string of security code phrases, all of them hopelessly out of date now of course but which had been valid, it turned out, during Negri's time as head of ImpSec.

It sounded more like the start of a joke in poor taste than a job for an Imperial auditor. Negri, Emperor Ezar's highly secretive chief of security, had been dead for over thirty years now. The man had never left Barrayar in his life, not even to go as far as Komarr. While Miles had no problem believing that the man had taken plenty of dangerous secrets to his grave it was hard to imagine one surfacing now - and on Beta of all places. Still, it really did seem that an old agent, one lost during the chaos following Negri's death and the war of Vordarian's Pretendership, had chosen this moment to be found once more.

There was no record of the man in any ImpSec file that Allegre's men had been able to turn up, but this absence was no proof of anything. Negri had been famous for keeping his own council, his and his Emperor's at least, on all sorts of matters. Undoubtedly things had fallen through the cracks and it was certainly not beyond the realm of possibility for this mysterious Betan to be one of them.

Prok was claiming to have acted as an informant, reporting on various technological advances the Betans were making - weapons systems and defence in particular. The Betan speciality. The mainstay of the Betan economy was it’s weapons trade, with new developments generally coming on to the open market only after the Betans had developed ways for their own forces to counter them if necessary. Prok’s contacts, he claimed, had all disappeared without trace after Negri's death and as a result Prok had gone more or less gratefully back to life as an ordinary Betan citizen. But now he apparently had reason to believe that his secrets were in danger of being revealed and was demanding promises of safety in return for the service he had performed.

"I don't know that they'd call it treason exactly," Gregor had said. "But the Betans certainly wouldn't take kindly to proof of industrial espionage. Particularly not if carried out in Barrayar's favour. On Beta he'd hardly need to be in fear for his life, but if the information passed on was sensitive enough and it came to light, the results would undoubtedly still be unpleasant. For him and for us."

So here Miles was heading to Beta Colony, tasked with finding out exactly what secrets the Betan claimed to have passed on to the Empire. And when. And whether it was in Barrayar's best interests to ensure that his secrets stayed hidden. Perhaps it would prove to be better for Betan-Barrayaran relations to turn Prok over to the Betan authorities. It all depended on what, exactly, he had done. It would be up to Miles, the man on the spot, speaking in the Emperor's voice, to decide.

The trip certainly promised to be interesting.

* * *

On a typical visit to Beta, Miles would normally stay in his grandmother's home. However, her spare room was currently occupied by Miles's brother Mark. This left Miles to find lodgings elsewhere, a stroke of good fortune he thought, since it meant he wouldn’t need to explain his movements to his family.

Still, Miles couldn't get started on his Auditorial business immediately. He had family duties to attend to and a cover story to establish. He'd been met at the shuttle port by his grandmother, Mark and Kareen. They then whisked him straight off to a family dinner. Pym, the Vorkosigan armsman accompanying him on this trip was sent to secure their accommodation, as well as to make discreet contact with the Embassy. Having the former ImpSec man along was sure to prove to be an advantage, as long as the poor man's eyes didn't fall out at the sight of the decadence and debauchery to be found in abundance on Beta colony. Ma Pym had apparently had a great deal to say on the subject when she'd been informed of their destination.

Dinner with his family was entertaining. Visiting them might make for a useful cover, but Miles was glad of the chance to see them all the same. Mark and Kareen were both thriving on Beta and his grandmother was obviously fond of them both. They were full of stories of their new lives to share with Miles and happy to hear all his news from home. Kareen was thrilled with the gifts he'd brought. 'Like Winterfair come early,' she'd called it, though Miles was no one's idea of a suitable Father Frost.

Returning to his temporary quarters he found that Pym, with his usual efficiency had unpacked his belongings, including the hated seizure stimulator. Though Miles'd taken care to induce a seizure on the trip out, so as to be fresh for the task at had. It shouldn’t become an issue at all during his time here. The rhythms of managing his condition were becoming almost routine by now. Pym also had news waiting for him.

"Some new data from ImpSec, m’lord," he said, handing over a message disc. "I also have an address and time for your meeting with Mr Prok, and an invitation to dinner with the Ambassador and his wife."

"Wonderful." Miles grimaced. He didn't hate such formal social occasions as much as, say, Gregor, but they were still far from his idea of fun. Still, it was unavoidable he supposed. "Thank you, Pym. That will be all for tonight. Get some rest. I want to get an early start tomorrow."

"Yes, m’lord."

* * *

The man currently sitting across from Miles looked like no one's idea of a covert operative. Jerold Prok was twitchy and nervous, with a pinched, peevish looking face. He looked like the kind of man you tried very hard to avoid at parties, lest you be trapped for a seeming eternity hearing in excruciating detail about all the things that had gone wrong in his life - none of which, according to him at least, were at all the man's own damn fault. Prok barely let Miles introduce himself before demanding to know what authority he had, what guarantees he could offer.

"As a Lord Auditor, I speak with the Emperor's voice," Miles explained.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Prok demanded.

"It means that a promise from me is as binding as one from the Emperor himself."

"So you can keep me safe? Get me off planet? You have enough authority for that?"

"More than enough, yes. If that's what is in Barrayar's best interests."

"Good, good. Best start asking your damned questions then."

"Tell me how this all started."

"I was a young man back then, foolish. I'd just got a job as a clerk for one of the big weapons research companies. Boring stuff but it paid well, you know? Had to sign all sorts of confidentiality agreements, all sorts of dire warnings about them during the training too. We joked about it, me and some of the others, said it was all so boring anybody we talked to was more likely to pay us to shut up." He looked up at Miles, expectantly. Wanting him to share the joke? Miles forced himself to smile slightly and Prok seemed satisfied.

He told Miles how he'd gone out at the end of his first month wanting to celebrate, spend his first pay check. He'd spent the evening talking to a friendly young offworlder, newly arrived on planet, advising him on the things he absolutely had to see while he was on Beta. He'd woken up in a strange bed with only fuzzy memories of the night before and an impressive hangover. Two days later the same man had approached him wanting to buy him a drink to say thanks. Prok had assumed this was to say thanks for playing tour guide and accepted. But then it turned out the man was thanking him for 'the very profitable information' he'd passed on. Prok had been horrified and spent the next month waiting to be fired. But nothing happened and nothing kept happening. Prok had just begun to feel safe, to feel sure he'd gotten away with his slip up when the offworlder reappeared, offering him a share of the profits this time in exchange for more insider information.

It had gone on this way for two years, just insider trading, profiteering, Prok had thought. Nothing he wanted to get caught at, obviously, but not all that terrible either. And he was getting away with it after all. It felt almost like friendship, a business partnership. Nothing so bad about that. He'd begun to feel more relaxed about the whole thing, it was becoming almost routine, and then came the day he'd spotted his 'friend' leaving the Barrayaran embassy in uniform. A heated confrontation had followed, as Prok was forced to face up to the reality of what he'd been doing.

Things became abruptly more business like after that, all pretence of partnership abandoned. Prok was pushed to deliver more and faster information, given secret codes and drop points, and with each exchange became ever more afraid of discovery.

The situation likely would have continued indefinitely. Prok was gradually working his way up in the company, his information becoming correspondingly more valuable. With each exchange he grew more afraid of discovery. Then, in the aftermath of the attack on Escobar, Prok's usual contact disappeared. He stopped making information drops and nobody chased him up. He spent months looking over his shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop before news of the civil war on Barrayar reached Beta Colony.

"After that, I figured I was safe. That you'd all forgotten about me, you know?” Prok shrugged. “I kept my head down and did my job. Kept quiet. But now there's people poking around the company and I don't like the way it smells. They keep coming back and asking me questions. The same stuff each time, but different phrasing. They're trying to catch me out. And I reckon you people owe me. Owe me more than the blood money you paid me back then."

* * *

Thinking things over later, Miles decided you really had to admire the set up. Negri's man had been good. Maximum results for minimum effort expended and all it required was a complete lack of ethics or compassion. Prok, the poor bastard, probably hadn't even said anything that first night, just got drugged and dumped in a strange room. The man's own paranoia and baseless guilt had then thoroughly trapped him. As it was trapping him now, thirty years later. The report ImpSec had supplied was clear on that. There was nothing going on in Prok's workplace except a simple, routine audit, the people asking questions were all accountants. Prok had made himself a target by acting guilty and nervous, but so far he was suspected of nothing more sinister than skimming company funds.

Still, it would be highly embarrassing if the matter came to light during a routine investigation like this. It would be best, Miles decided, if Prok retired quietly off planet somewhere. Not Barrayar, he rather thought, and certainly not after having been granted asylum - that was out of the question. It would raise far, far too many eyebrows. Questions would be asked and that was the last thing they wanted. No, somewhere else would have to be found. Preferably somewhere far away from both Barrayar and Beta Colony, or any of their respective allies and enemies. He'd have to think about that one.

While part of his mind considered that particular problem, Miles decided to review Prok's financial records once more, comparing them to the list Prok had provided of the secrets he'd stolen, as best he could remember them. The two lists matched up pretty well, considering the span of time that'd passed. Whatever his flaws, the man kept good records. A detail jumped out at him, something he'd somehow missed the previous times he'd looked this document over. According to Prok, the last payment he had received had been in return for sharing the details of plasma mirror technology. He’d been certain of that, it had been the last secret he’d sold. Plasma mirrors had been brand new at the time, cutting edge, no one had seen anything like them before. Their surprise introduction on to the battlefield had been decisive in wining the war and turning back the Barrayaran invasion. But now Miles was looking at a document showing that Prok’s payment had been sent two months before the war had begun. If this information was right Negri, and therefore Emperor Ezar, had known about the development of plasma mirrors before the fleet had even left Barrayaran space.

But that didn't make any sense. Miles gnawed on his fingers and tried to think the problem through logically. If the Barrayaran military command had known about the plasma mirrors in advance, they must have known they stood no chance of taking and holding the planet. It had always been a long shot at best, Miles's father had had sound reasons for arguing that it shouldn't even be attempted. Having known about the invention of plasma mirrors and going forward anyway was total madness. What could Ezar possibly have been thinking, to let it go ahead? The invasion had been a disaster for Barrayar. Thousands of Barrayarans had died in that conflict, the Crown Prince among them.

Miles went totally still as horrible thought after horrible thought lined up in his head, logical, plausible and terrifying. He’d known for some time that there were plenty of things about Serg that were never mentioned on Barrayar, that had never made it in to their history books. Mad Emperor Yuri was far from the only reason Gregor had for fearing that monsters lurked in his genome. The attack on Escobar had been Serg’s brainchild. In the aftermath of the defeat, without Serg and the other leading members of his political faction who had died with him there, the political will behind expansion through warfare had all but died out in the Empire. No one would hesitate to describe Ezar as ruthless when dealing with his enemies, not if they knew the history behind his rise to power, but Serg was the man’s son. What Miles was currently imagining was impossible, surely.

Crown Prince Serg had died at Escobar. Had died a war hero, a tragic figure who died too young and left behind his beautiful wife and a young son. A tragic figure who hadn't lived long enough to become Emperor. Hadn't been _allowed_ to live long enough? Could it all have been deliberate?

Now the absence of any mention of Prok in ImpSec files looked less like an accidental oversight and more like deliberate erasure. Had Negri intended to tie up this loose end and died before being able to set things in motion?

Suddenly nowhere in the Nexus seemed safe enough, no hole deep or dark enough to keep Prok hidden. This wasn't just a potential embarrassment for Barrayar, this was a potential disaster of galactic proportions. It was pure speculation and no proof, but if the Betans, or god forbid the _Escobarans_ , got wind of this... And how in hell was Miles supposed to report any of this to Gregor? Miles doubted that the duties of a Lord Auditor extended to keeping Imperial secrets from the Emperor, even for his own good.

It was beginning to seem like disposing of Prok would be the easy part of this assignment after all. Miles had a horrible feeling that this was going to get messy.

* * *

Two weeks later, Miles found himself in the Imperial Residence once more. For this meeting General Allegre had been replaced by Miles's parents Count and Countess Vorkosigan, the Viceroy and Vicerine of Segyar.

For all Miles's worrying, Prok had proved easy to dispose of in the end. He was now officially no longer Miles's problem. It wasn't much of a relief. Miles had plenty of problems still waiting for him right here in this room.

The rest of his remaining time on Beta Colony had been split between trying his best to disprove his own theory and failing, and ensuring any observers had no reason to suspect the hidden purpose of this trip. There must be way to link the disappearance of Jerold Prok to Lord Auditor Vorkosigan's presence. Some methods proved to be more pleasant than others. Dinner with the Barrayaran ambassador had been dire. The man had spent the meal alternately fishing for information about Prok, thereby thoroughly disproving any notion that he'd been chosen for this post based on his talent for discretion, and asking Miles increasingly random questions about Betan culture, as if genetics could trump years spent living on the planet. Still, at least the food had been good. At the opposite extreme was the time he spent with Mark and Kareen. Miles was pleased to see Mark settled and making a life for himself on his own terms. That pleasure hadn't stopped Miles from exerting himself to charm Kareen, purely for the way it never failed to make Mark scowl. Miles had, after all, been denied the opportunity to play the obnoxious older brother for far too long. Kareen had found the pair of them hilarious and hadn't hesitated to tell them so. In her company they had been able to avoid the difficult topics and for once simply enjoy the novelty of being brothers.

However, that pleasant interlude had ended all too soon. Miles was back on Barrayar now, having travelled via Sergyar - where he'd all but kidnapped his startled parents. He'd plead unspecified auditorial business, but that hadn't got him very far when dealing with people who remembered all to well the days when they could send him to his room if he didn’t eat his vegetables.

“I can't tell you what's going on right now,” he'd told them. “But Gregor needs you in Vorbarr Sultana.”

That had been enough to get them moving, at least. Although his mother had still asked, rather pointedly, why, if that was the case, Gregor wasn’t the one telling them so?

“Because Gregor doesn't know he needs you. Not yet anyway,” he muttered to himself as he tried his best to speed things along.

And now here they all were in the Emperor's sitting room. Gregor had been surprised, but pleased, to see the Count and Countess. Hugs and greetings had been exchanged all round and now they were all looking to Miles expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself. Miles felt uncomfortably like the detective from one of those old crime novels his mother liked so much. He'd gathered together all the principal players and now all that remained was to explain how the murder was done. He caught his father's eye and looked away quickly. Best to keep that analogy to himself under the circumstances. It was rather too uncomfortably apt.

“Well, Miles? Do you have any further dramatic flourishes planned, or are you going to let us know what's going on?” Gregor was smiling, amused by Miles's antics, but Miles could see the apprehension lurking underneath. Unfortunately for Gregor, he had good reason to be worried and there was nothing Miles could do to fix it. Still, the only way on was through.

“Well, sire, you'll be pleased to know that your Betan asylum seeker has been dealt with.” Even while dreading the rest of this conversation, Miles was still able to appreciate his parents' shocked reactions to this statement.

“Mmm, yes. You said as much in your last report. I notice, however, that you chose not to explain _how_ he's been dealt with. Would you, perhaps, care to rectify that oversight now?”

“That bit turned out to be easy, actually. Prok didn't come right out and say anything, but the _ahem_ manner of his entrapment suggested to me that Athos might be a suitable solution all round. You have all heard of Athos, right? God knows they've done nothing to deserve having him inflicted on them, but the planet's suitably remote, their population is low enough that they'll take him without asking questions, and they're unlikely to care about the answers in any case. What's Barrayar to them? Most of them have probably never even heard of us. And then, anyone looking in to Prok's departure will think it's the sign of a mid-life crisis. Who would suspect Barrayaran intervention with _that_ destination?"

"I see. That's remarkably devious of you, Miles."

"Thank you, sire. I do aim to please. And you never know, the miserable bastard might actually end up being happy there. Stranger things have happened. He's being transported by the Dendarii right now, they'll get him there without any trouble. It turns out Elli actually knows people there. One of their reproductive specialists and his co-parent. Who'd have guessed? Not at all her usual crowd. She was muttering something about getting a chance to look in on the children, but I thought it best not to ask for details...”

“Miles!” His mother's voice was sharp and cut straight through his chatter. “Miles, love, you're babbling. Slow down. Who is this man, why was he asking for asylum, and why exactly are you sending him to Athos instead?”

“I can answer at least two of those questions,” Gregor offered. “Jerold Prok is a Betan citizen who turned up in our embassy asking for asylum. I sent Miles, as an Imperial Auditor, to deal with the situation and Athos would seem to be his solution. As for the why, I'm still waiting for Miles to explain that myself.”

“Why. Right.” Miles took a deep breath. “Prok works, or worked, in the Betan weapons industry. For around a six year period, thirty years ago, Prok was reporting details of classified weapons research to one of Captain Negri's agents.” He turned to look at his parents and told them, almost apologetically, “One of those reports was on the development of the new plasma mirror technology.”

He watched, dismayed as this last fact sank in. His father looked defeated, his mother angry, and there went Miles's last, faint hope that he might've been wrong. Might have made a mistake somewhere in his chain of reasoning. Miles almost felt like crying, but his report wasn't finished yet. His parents might have figured out what this was about, what dangerous secrets Prok had been keeping all these years, but there was still Gregor to face. Gregor who was looking at the three of them for an explanation and growing increasingly frustrated.

“Miles, what exactly is going on here? What aren't you telling me?” The Emperor asked. “What have plasma mirrors got to do with anything? I mean, obviously our security forces would want to gather as much intelligence on them as possible after Escobar. It's hardly surprising that we'd turn to a Betan informant, if we had one. What could be so surprising about that, what secret so terrible that you'd send this man all the way to Athos to keep it hidden?”

Aral spoke before Miles could even try to find the words. “Something that I, we,” he took Cordelia's hand in his and grasped it tightly before continuing, “hoped you would never have to find out.” He took a deep, steadying breath and made sure to meet Gregor's eyes. “ImpSec received information concerning the development of plasma mirrors before the attack on Escobar took place, not after.” He turned to Miles. “I assume you found evidence in Prok's files to confirm it?”

Miles nodded. “His financials, yes.” He held up a data disc in confirmation. “The last payment went through two months before the invasion began.” He tossed the disc to Gregor, who caught it automatically.

“Before? That makes no sense. If we’d knew about the mirrors before hand, it would have been obvious that winning was impossible.”

“Not quite impossible,” Miles put in. “I think two or three students at the Academy have still managed to win when they work through the sims on the battle computers. It was unlikely, certainly.”

Aral snorted. “I told them that from the start, not that they listened. But then victory was never Ezar's major concern.”

“And what was my grandfather concerned with, if not victory? What did he expect to gain from a military campaign that was doomed from the start?”

“The attack on Escobar wasn't Ezar's idea, but once it had been proposed he began to see ways to use the situation to resolve some long standing difficulties.” Aral rubbed a hand over his face. “He'd always been a ruthless man but once he knew he was dying, that his time was running out, no price was too high to achieve his desired results.”

“No price to high?” Gregor was outraged. “Not the death of thousands of his subjects? The death of his own son? What could possibly justify that price?”

There was a horribly loaded silence in the room. Miles felt sick. He'd have given almost anything right now to spare Gregor and his father this conversation, but it wasn't his story to tell. He only had educated guesses, no facts, while his father had been at the centre of it all.

“The death of Crown Prince Serg was not the price Ezar paid, it was the goal he sought,” Aral explained. “The death of Serg's allies and of the War party on Barrayar as well, but Serg was the primary target.”

“All that death, just to kill my father? It can't be true. It's madness!”

“Ezar felt that dying a war hero was the greatest service your father could perform for the Empire. I couldn't stop the attack on Escobar from going ahead, Ezar persuaded me to make sure it did some good.”

“And did my father know the service he was being asked to perform?” Gregor's tone was dry as dust.

“No. Your father believed he would be leading his troops to a glorious victory.”

“And so proved himself a fool, as well as vicious. Who knew about this? Ezar, obviously, and Negri, but who else besides you, Count Vorkosigan?”

“Only myself. No one else in the fleet knew. Their actions, at least, were honest.”

“Don't.” Cordelia spat, unable to maintain her silence any longer. “Don't blame yourself for letting a twisted old man manipulate you and use your loyalty against you. It was Ezar's choice, not yours. And Serg could easily have stopped it himself. I was their prisoner for days after the mirrors got through after all. If he and Vorrutyer had spent less time torturing their prisoners and more time questioning them...” She broke off, having caught sight of Gregor's pale, horrified face. “Oh, Gregor love, I'm sorry.”

“That, I suppose, is a partial explanation of why his own father would think it necessary to engineer Serg's death. I suppose there's more. No,” he held up a hand. “Don't tell me. I decided a long time ago that I didn't want to know any more than I had to. I suppose the only true surprise here is Ezar. And you. I would not have thought you capable of something like this, Aral.”

“I offer no excuses, sire. Not to you or to myself. I could have stopped it, I chose not to.”

“And you?” Gregor turned to Cordelia. “Why did you choose to protect this secret?”

Cordelia shrugged. “By the time I knew the price had already been paid. I couldn’t do anything to change it. All that the truth could have brought us was more blood and guilt and pain. I’d seen too much of war by that point to want more.”

“And why tell me all this now? Why not keep it buried? Prok’s information wasn’t enough to reveal your involvement without a confession.”

“Secrets do not always stay buried, no matter how much we might wish it. The evidence has come to light. You are owed an explanation, the best I can give you.” Aral's voice was grave and sincere. “You hold my oath, sire, and my loyalty. You always have. I would have carried this secret to the grave, but I will not lie to you.”

Gregor shook his head. “I used to think Ezar was the best of my ancestors, but look at the pyre he built to hide just one death. To add a war hero to the Vorbarra legacy in place of just another monster in a family full of them. How could you bear to trust that I wouldn’t, won’t, become another?”

“You’re no monster, Gregor.” Cordelia’s voice was firm. “I think we all know you well enough to be sure of that. I’ve told you before that genetics isn’t destiny. Even if it were, you’re ignoring large pieces of the picture. I don’t know much about the other women in your family tree, but I met your mother. She was strong and brave and resourceful. If she could see the man you’ve become I’m sure she’d be so proud of you. I certainly am.”

“That might be true now, but then? I was only a child. How could you know you weren’t setting yourselves up for something worse than Serg somewhere not far down the line?”

“You were only a child,” Aral repeated Gregor’s words back to him. “We had a chance to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past, you deserved the chance to grow, the opportunity to prove yourself. And you have more than done so in the years since.”

Gregor waved this away, denying the praise. “After all that, how in hell did Ezar force you to become Regent? Surely any sensible man would have cut his losses and run as far from the Imperium as he could get?”

“I thought about it. That kind of power was the last thing I wanted. But I'd already spent my honor for Ezar, was I supposed to stand aside and let it be for nothing? Watch the Empire descend in to chaos and civil war? Ezar always did know how to twist the knife. And in the end, though we tried, we couldn’t avoid chaos entirely.” Aral stood stifly and moved over to Gregor, kneeling at his feet. “The past is done, I cannot change any of it. I await your judgement of my actions, sire. If you decided to charge me with treason I won't dispute it.”

“Get up,” Gregor demanded, reaching down to pull Aral to his feet. “You’re the last man in the Nexus who should kneel to me. Get up.” He stood and stared at Aral, still clasping his hand. "I'll hear no more talk to treason from any of your family. Let it be enough."

Cordelia pulled Miles aside, giving the two men a moment of privacy.

“You seem to be taking all these revelations rather well.” There was a question in her tone, if not her words.

“I've had longer for it all to sink in.”

“Even so. I know your father worried about what you'd think of him, if you knew.”

Miles shrugged, helplessly. “He was obeying his Emperor.” Her expression made it clear that Cordelia found this explanation far from sufficient, but he didn't know how else to explain it. Perhaps he'd misjudged that stuffy old ambassador after all, more than thirty years here all told and she could still be so thoroughly Betan sometimes. “I just have to think about what I'd do if Gregor asked something like that of me.”

“But Gregor would never..!” Her voice was outraged. Miles put a hand on her arm to stop her protest.

“I know he wouldn't. In that I'm far luckier than my father was.” She frowned, obviously still unsatisfied.

“Sometimes I could swear you're all crazy, or that I am. It's the only explanation that makes the slightest bit of sense.”

“Barrayarans?” Gregor offered, hesitantly. He and Aral had turned back towards them, drawn by Cordelia's exclamation.

“Barayarans.” Cordelia agreed, somewhat ruefully, and pulled him in to a tight hug. Miles met his father’s eyes and they shared small smiles at the familiar joke, at the release of tension. It was going to be okay now, they’d get through this. Miles was sure of it.


End file.
